


St Genevieve

by BardicRaven



Series: Arthurian Past-times [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardicRaven/pseuds/BardicRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is more than one kind of love... and more than one kind of vow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	St Genevieve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcat/gifts).



> Originally written as part of the Yuletide 2007(8? - written in 12-07) challenge, re-posted here for completeness' sake. (And because I'm feeling the Call. :>)

I love him for all the things he is - tall, handsome, proud, a true leader of men. He thinks as well as acts, which is something that cannot be said of all men. He has taken a filthy rabble and given them ideals, something beyond themselves to guide their actions. His Round Table now stands as a shining example of what knighthood could be, should be. And I love him for that.

I love him for the fact that those who are weaker - women, cripples, the poor - now need not always fear the sight of armor. Where once there was scorn, apathy, mistreatment, now there is reverence shown by those sworn to him. And I love him for that.

I love him for the things that he is not. He is not arrogant, he is not full of that pride which allows for no other opinion but his own. He listens to others when they speak, weighing the wisdom of their words against his own thoughts of action before he chooses his course.

But he is a legend, a paragon, nearly a myth. And while I love him for the qualities that have made him so, still…. I find I want a man, someone who can hold me in the night, and love me with less thought of consequence than a king.

I want someone who can look at me and see only me, not an alliance, not land, nothing beyond myself. Or at least see me first, before he sees those other things. After all, I know what it is that I am. I know my place in this world, and my duty, although I could have wished otherwise for myself had it been given to me to choose.

I had no choice in this marriage. As if I would have had, being what I am. But there is as much rebellion as obedience in my heart and I find that I want more. Some would ask ‘why?’, say that I already have everything a woman could want, servants and jewels and power. How could I possibly not be satisfied with that?

And I would answer that it’s the simple things that I miss. I had no chance to be courted and I find I want that. I want a knight to carry my favor into battle as something more than a trinket of their Queen, an honor to be sought after as no more than a sign of political favor.

I ran away once, at the beginning of our marriage, into the greenwood outside the castle. I don’t know what I had been thinking - there were wild animals out there which would have loved nothing better than to feast on my flesh, and at that time the predators did not always walk on four feet alone - but I was so panicked at the thought of being trapped in this foreign land, so different from home, and this marriage to a man that I knew only by reputation, that I simply ran. I could do nothing else.

He came and found me. He gentled me with soft, tender words, crushing me to his breast while begging me never to leave him again. This man who had stared down armies unafraid wept as he held me, tearfully telling me that he had been so afraid of what he might find waiting for him out here. In the face of such emotion, I found myself ashamed of my selfishness and pride and I promised him that I would never run away again.

I try to honor the pledge I made him that day, that day and the day we exchanged vows in the chapel. But there is that within me that desires me to run again, and I do not know for how long I can withstand the urge.

Especially when there is Launcelot. A man of my father’s own court, and one who has the time to spend with me that my husband does not. He too is comely and strong, fair of face and mighty of arm, and while he is also rapidly becomes a legend, still, somehow, he remains more approachable.

I fear what may be coming. I fear it and yet I desire it too, almost more than life itself.

And that would be the choice. The Church does not look kindly upon adulterers, neither does the Law. So I fight this attraction to the golden knight of the golden king with all my heart and soul, and pray to God and St Genevieve, my namesake, that it will somehow be enough.


End file.
